


The Tree House

by occasionalwriter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Broken Bones, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Scott is a Good Friend, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5628805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occasionalwriter/pseuds/occasionalwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After fights, Stiles runs off to fix himself up, not wanting to put the stress on someone else. But, Scott doesn't think that's right and knows that's not how pack works so he talks some sense into him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tree House

Stiles and Scott had a tree house that they’d play in when they were young that was about a five minute walk from Stiles’ house. They’d found it when they were adventuring one time and commandeered it as their own, despite the fact that it could very have been any other kid in the neighborhood’s. They spent almost every summer up until high school hanging out there and every so often, when it got really stressful, Stiles would go back there.

He assumed that Scott didn’t know he did that, because if he did he’d probably show up as well and be the eager to help friend that he was. As much as Stiles fully appreciated that, loved him for it, there were some days where he wasn’t sure he wanted someone to come along and try and fix things, some days he just wanted to be pissed off at the world.

But, of course Scott knew. Every time that the Sheriff got worried about Stiles, and knew he’d run off, he’d tell Scott just in case it was something other than normal stress. Scott would find Stiles’ scent and it lead him right to the familiar trail to the tree house. The first time he did that he was going to go up and talk to Stiles, see if he could figure out what was wrong, but he’d been so keyed up for the past week and his scent so drenched with anxiety that when Scott finally smelt something resembling peace, he figured he should leave him be.

So, one day after a particularly difficult fight when everyone had been knocked down more times than they could count and no one really knew how to feel, Stiles went there again. Everyone had gone off to nurse their own wounds; Erica, Boyd, and Isaac went back to the loft with Derek to sleep off the worst of their injuries. Lydia and Jackson, relatively unscathed, went to Lydia’s house so she could update the bestiary. Scott had made sure that Allison got home alright, a few ribs broken and a deep gash on her shoulder, before he even realized that Stiles must’ve gone off on his own. 

He said a quick goodbye to Allison after that and made his way over to Stiles’ house, hoping that the Sheriff wasn’t home because his bloody shirt and ripped pants would probably be too suspicious for even Stiles to fabricate a story about. He made it to his house quickly and listened outside for just a few seconds to realize that Stiles was nowhere inside, but his dad most definitely was. Scott contemplated waiting there for a little longer, thinking that Stiles may have just been taking his sweet time to get home, but then he thought better of it and took the familiar, worn path to the treehouse.

He knew he’d made the right choice when Stiles’ scent was clearly fresh, and he grew concerned when he realized how much pain was combined in it. He started moving just a little quicker and as soon as he made it to the tree, he was scaling the ladder and dropping onto the floor of the treehouse.

Stiles was propped up in a corner, one hand clutching the opposite sides’ ribs as his head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed but still gasping for breath. Scott jumped into action immediately, crawling over to him and absently noticing the huge first aid kit that was sitting just out of Stiles’ reach.

“Hey, Stiles; Stiles!” Scott gripped his shoulder and shook a little bit. Stiles’ eyes flew open and his hand instinctively pushed out, to push whoever was that close to him away.

But Scott just grabbed a hold of it until Stiles figured out who he was and stopped pushing, “Scott. What’re you doing here?”

Scott scooted forward a little bit more, his hands nervously fluttering around Stiles to see what he could do to help him, “Checking on you. I went to your house but you weren’t there. I followed your scent here. You’re hurt.”

Stiles shrugs a little bit, wincing as he does so and he pulls himself up a little more. It doesn’t do much more than make pain spring up again throughout his body which has Scott moving impossibly closer.

“You need the hospital.” Scott says, “You have hurt ribs, and you’re in a lot of pain. And I smell blood.”

Stiles shakes his head aggressively and tells him, “We can’t afford that Scott. If I went to the hospital every time I got hurt we’d never be able to eat again.”

Scott finally seemed to realize that the reason Stiles didn’t ever go get help was because he didn’t want his dad worrying, or having to pay for extensive medical bills every time Stiles sprained a wrist or needed stitches.

So, instead of pushing it again, he says, “Let me help you.”

He looks like he wants to object but Scott pulls his puppy dog eyes and Stiles is exhausted so he gives in with a nod and slumps back into the corner. Scott pulls open the first aid kit and finds that it’s pretty well stocked but it’s also been pretty well used. There’s everything he could need for a quick fix up and it has Scott wondering how many times Stiles had come up here on his own before to fix himself up.

He moves it over so it’s right next to Stiles and then starts tugging on him a little bit and saying, “What hurts the worst?”

“Ribs.” Stiles says, his hand still firmly in place on his side.

“We’ll have to get your shirt off.” Scott tells him, “Then I can wrap them up.”

“I don’t have another shirt to wear home,” Stiles says, “But I don’t think I can lift my arms to get it off.”

“We can stop by my house. My mom’s working a double today so we can get you one of my shirts before you go home.” Stiles agrees and Scott flicks out a claw to cut through the t-shirt and pull it off of him. On his left lower ribs, it was a blossom of dark red and purpling bruises and Scott was putting his hand on it and pulling pain before he could even consciously think to do so.

“Dude, you don’t have to do that.” Stiles says. But, his entire body is relaxing and he’s breathing a little more deeply so Scott pulls a bit more before helping him sit up straight. 

“Okay, I’ll just wrap them up.” Scott says, unwinding a roll of ACE bandage and wrapping it around his ribs as many times as he can. Once he’s finally done, and he’s pinned it in place, Stiles is taking shallow breaths of pain again. Scott pulls a little of it before telling him, “Lie down, your leg is still bleeding quite a bit.”

“You’ll have to stitch it up.” Stiles says.

“What? No!” Scott protests, pulling back a little bit, “Stiles, I’m not going to do that!”

“I’ll be fine, but you have to. It’s not going to stop bleeding until you do it.”

“You need morphine, or something! It’ll hurt.”

“I’ve done it before Scott.” Stiles says, “I’ll be okay. Please, just get it over with. You know how to do stitches, right? Deaton’s showed you?”

“Well, yes. But on dogs. Not humans.”

“Same concept.” Stiles assures. “Just do it.”

Scott pulls himself together and is then yanking the right leg of Stiles’ pants up to just under his knee so he can see the entire length of the cut down the side of his leg. It’s probably only four or five inches long but it’s deep and sluggishly leaking blood over the floor of the treehouse. Stiles hands over a pile of supplies that Scott sorts out on the floor.

After wiping off whatever he can, Scott is threading the needle and glancing up at Stiles for just a second before getting to work. It takes longer than it probably should, Scott checking in on Stiles after every stitch and making him take breaks after every five or so, but he gets it done and then he’s pulling the crusty bloody pants back down over it.

The two sit in quiet for a little bit as Scott packs up all of the reusable items and puts the garbage into a little plastic bag that Stiles had stashed in the kit. When he’s finally through with clean up, he’s grabbing a hold of Stiles’ arm and pulling him into a sitting position. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I need to sleep for three days straight.” Stiles says, working himself upright and then making eye contact with Scott for what felt like the first time, “Thank you.”

“Of course. But Jesus, Stiles, how many times have you had to do this?”

“Not many.” Stiles answers quickly, “It’s usually just a quick fix up. This is one of the worst. Don’t worry about it.”

Scott clearly won’t not worry but he doesn’t say anything as he heads toward the ladder and starts down it, “Can you get down?”

“Yeah… Just stay behind me.” Stiles says, “Just in case.”

They do manage to make it down but once they’re finally at the bottom, Stiles is exhausted and breathing heavily again. Scott waits with him at the bottom for a little bit before saying, “Let’s head to my house, you can shower and change and stuff before you go home. Sound good?”

Stiles nods and the two start making their way to Scott’s house, a slow journey but they make it there before too long and Stiles (carefully) flops down onto Scott’s bed as soon as he gets into his room. Scott goes to his dresser and pulls out new clothes for Stiles and just as he turns around to tell him to head to the shower, he realizes that Stiles has already passed out in just his bloody jeans and tennis shoes.

Scott contemplates waking him up but he finally looks like he’s not in pain so, instead, he pulls his shoes off carefully and does his best to get him situated on the bed without waking him. Then, he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket and sending a quick text to his dad telling him that Stiles was spending the night there.

It didn’t take much longer for Scott to decide sleep was probably in order for himself as well so he climbed onto the bed as well and minutes later, he was just as fast asleep as Stiles.

The next morning, Stiles woke up a little discombobulated and swatted around to find his phone. Instead, he hit Scott who woke up with a grunt and also took a second to figure out just why Stiles was in the bed with him. But, then he smelled the pain and the blood and it all came crashing back.

“You need to shower.” Scott says, his nose wrinkling a little in disgust, “You smell like pain and blood still.”

Stiles looks a little apologetic and hoists himself up off the bed, steadying himself for a second and then reaching for his phone on the top of Scott’s dresser. “Thanks for texting my dad. He would’ve killed me if he didn’t know where I was.”

“No problem.” Scott promises, “Go shower.”

When Stiles comes back, fresh and clean, Scott looks much more serious than usual and it has Stiles finding a seat on the bed as Scott paces back and forth in the room. After just too long of sitting in quiet, Stiles decides to bite the bullet and start the conversation, “What is it?”

“You shouldn’t go off alone when you’re hurt.”

Apparently he’d been thinking that over for a while because the answer came milliseconds after Stiles asked the question. He shifts nervously on his spot and starts picking at his poorly wrapped ribs. Scott had done a much better job but after his shower he hadn’t wanted to ask again. When he finally does answer it’s a very unconvincing, “It’s not a big deal.” 

Scott looks up at him incredulously and says, “You were seconds away from being passed out when I got there! And you were bleeding and could hardly lift your arms. What were you going to do?”

“I would’ve been fine… I would’ve figured it out.” Stiles says, “I don’t need to be taken care of all the time.”

“But sometimes you do and we can’t do that if you leave right after every fight. What do you think would happen if someone went after you when you were hurt, you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself. That’s the problem! And that’s the point of a pack.”

“Okay!” Stiles says, standing up just a little too quickly for his liking and it has Scott jolting forward and holding him upright, “I’m sorry! I thought I’d be fine on my own.”

Scott’s face drops to sympathetic and he helps Stiles sit back down before asking, “Why do you think you needed to do it on your own?”

A little shrug and some more picking at the wrapping has Scott yanking up his shirt and smirking a little, “You’re not very good at it.”

“Dick.” Stiles mumbles. But, he holds up his own shirt as Scott rewraps his ribs and once they’re finished he says, “I’ll get better at it.”

“At fixing up yourself?” Scott looks a little hurt and his shoulders slump slightly in defeat.

“No.” Stiles says, rolling his eyes, “At letting you help.”

Scott breaks into a smile and gives him a (very gentle) hug, “That’s all I ask!”

The next time they have a fight, Stiles goes with Scott. He let’s Scott patch up the worst of the cuts and pull just enough pain that he can find at least one comfortable position lying down and then he sleeps off the worst of the injuries before he heads home. Scott checks on him the next morning, and that’s that. They’re both happy, Stiles feels less like he’s about to fall apart at the seams and Scott feels like he’s done right by his pack, and they have a new little system to work with.


End file.
